


Brevis Ipsa Vita Est Sed Malis Fit Longior

by ShowMeAHero



Series: breaking all the rules [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, Fights, Fluff and Smut, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Injury, M/M, Major Character Injury, Non-Graphic Violence, Police
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-08 23:46:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire and Enjolras go for a coffee and slide into home base before the shit hits the fan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brevis Ipsa Vita Est Sed Malis Fit Longior

“You’re just meeting him for coffee,” Jehan said soothingly, resting his head on his arms, which were folded on his desk. He smiled sideways at Enjolras. “It’s not that scary.”

“It is when you haven’t gotten laid since college,” Courfeyrac laughed. Enjolras glared at him before he gathered up his coat. Jehan picked his head up.

“Are you wearing that?” Jehan asked. Enjolras frowned down at his clothes.

“What’s wrong with this?” Enjolras looked over at Combeferre, who was simply leaning back in his chair, watching with amusement. He made a face when he realized he was clearly not going to get any help from his friend.

“Nothing, if you don’t want to get laid,” Courfeyrac answered, spinning in his chair.

“You look like you’re just coming right from work,” Jehan explained. Enjolras raised an eyebrow at him.

“...I am coming right from work,” Enjolras replied slowly. Jehan rolled his eyes and pulled his long braid over his shoulder, twisting the end of it between his fingers.

“But you don’t want to _look_ like that.” Jehan stood up and motioned at Courfeyrac, who stood up as instructed and came to Jehan’s side. He appraised the two of them. “Your pants are fine, black pants are good.” Jehan stepped forward and touched Courfeyrac’s button-down. “Would you be willing to let Enjolras borrow this? He’ll trade with you, and he will give it back.”

Courfeyrac swallowed and kept eye contact with Jehan, trying very hard to ignore the feel of Jehan’s hands on his chest. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be fine.”

“Thanks, honey.” Jehan grinned up at Courfeyrac before deftly unbuttoning his partner’s shirt. He motioned impatiently at Enjolras, who rolled his eyes but slipped his shirt off as he was asked. The two traded, Jehan helping Courfeyrac more than Enjolras thought was strictly necessary, but he did not make any comment. Jehan slipped over once Courfeyrac was set and adjusted Enjolras’ clothes for him. He stood back and put his hands on his hips, looking Enjolras over. He stepped forward again, and stretched up to tousle Enjolras’ hair. “There.”

“Is this acceptable to you?” Enjolras asked, only partially sarcastic. Jehan nodded enthusiastically.

“Don’t screw up this date, or I swear to God, Enjolras,” Jehan threatened. Combeferre smiled and crossed his arms.

“Please get laid. Just so someone besides me around here is,” Courfeyrac teased. Combeferre began gathering his papers.

“I have faith in you. Just don’t scare him away,” Combeferre advised, though his eyes were focused on his hands as he gathered his papers. He looked up at Enjolras. “That means no fighting, no yelling, no long spiels about the state of our current government.”

“But-”

“But nothing,” Jehan shot. Enjolras looked down at his poet friend in surprise. “Don’t fuck this up, Enjolras. He likes you. Don’t make him regret that decision.”

Courfeyrac let out a low whistle. “You made Prouvaire snap at you. Way to go.”

“You’ll do just fine. Just don’t scare him off, like Combeferre said.” Jehan hugged Enjolras tightly and released him. “Stay safe. Have fun. Text me if you need your shift tonight covered.”

“I doubt I’ll need my one o’clock shift covered,” Enjolras replied dryly, leaving his jacket behind. “I’ll keep the jacket here for tonight, it’s too hot out to need it.”

“With any luck, it will be,” Courfeyrac commented under his breath. Jehan grinned at him, and Enjolras ignored them all as he left. The walk down to the Musain was short, but he found himself speeding up involuntarily. He forced himself to calm down. He had been on dates before; this was nothing different. Just another guy, a normal person, like anyone else, with his paint-stained hands and his pale French skin and his messy black hair and his sharp blue eyes-

Enjolras took a deep breath and made himself focus only on the sights around him so that he would not get lost in his own thoughts. He still reached the Musain earlier than he expected, and he spent a couple minutes with Bossuet waiting for Grantaire to come in. When he finally did, Enjolras was abruptly glad that Jehan had took the incentive on making him more presentable. Grantaire had cleaned himself up, as well, and was clean and well-dressed in a white button-down and dark jeans. He had the same shoes on as usual, though, and Enjolras found comfort in the familiarity. He wondered if this really was a first date for them, rather than just a coffee date. Grantaire motioned to a table, and he let Enjolras sit down before he sat across from him. Bossuet brought over two black coffees before disappearing almost instantly. Enjolras raised an eyebrow at Grantaire, who just shrugged.

“You got a black coffee when you came. I assumed you’d want the same thing,” Grantaire informed him before he took a sip from the mug in front of him. “Usually I make mine Irish, but I want to remember this.”

“Thanks,” Enjolras said dryly, picking his own mug. He stared at Grantaire in silence for a moment, trying to avoid any topic that Jehan would frown at him for. “...Jehan told me you’re an artist.”

“In the loosest sense of the word,” Grantaire answered with a humorless laugh. He put his mug down and folded his hands together; he placed his elbows on the table and let his chin rest on his joined hands. “I’ve never really sold anything or had a show or anything like that, but I do what I can. Jehan sees my stuff when we do Arts Night here, because Musichetta puts my stuff up and Jehan does some poetry readings.”

“Maybe I’ll see some of your work sometime,” Enjolras suggested offhandedly. Grantaire shrugged.

“Maybe you will,” Grantaire said, his tone obviously placating. He turned his head to the side slightly, and Enjolras swallowed. “What’re you up to? Besides, you know, being an upstanding citizen and protecting the law.”

“I enforce the law, I don’t protect it. Some laws are ridiculous,” Enjolras grumbled in the general direction of his coffee. Grantaire perked up.

“Do tell,” Grantaire urged, picking up his coffee mug again. Enjolras leaned forward and launched into conversation, ignoring the voice in his head - that sounded frustratingly like Combeferre - that told him he was going to scare Grantaire away. Grantaire met him point-for-point, though, and Enjolras found himself going further into his own beliefs and thoughts than he ever had on a first date before. Grantaire was exceptionally cynical, and almost every other statement out of his mouth was a disagreement, but Enjolras welcome the challenge, and mentally rearranged a few arguments just so he could argue with Grantaire about them.

Grantaire found that arguing with Enjolras was more fun than anything else they could have been doing at this point on their date. He countered him eagerly, and, about halfway through their coffee date, he realized he was leaning forwards, and there was a solid weight forming in his chest. He let a part of his mind wander away and dissect the feeling; it was sudden when Grantaire realized he was feeling more than the lust he had originally felt. It was more than desire, and more than affection; it was _need_ , and it caught him incredibly off-balance. He blinked and sat back slightly, trailing off nearly mid-sentence. Enjolras’ brow furrowed.

“Is everything okay?” Enjolras asked. Grantaire ran a shaky hand through his hair.

“Everything’s fine,” Grantaire assured him. He leaned forward a bit. “Do you want to go for a walk?”

“Yeah, sure,” Enjolras agreed easily. Grantaire waved to Bossuet, who waved back with an enthusiastic grin on his face. Grantaire let Enjolras leave ahead of him, and he followed out after him, walking beside him at an even pace along the sidewalk. Enjolras started ranting again, and Grantaire automatically began arguing. Enjolras turned to him with this look on his face that made Grantaire stop walking and kiss him. Enjolras blinked, and Grantaire pulled back at once. They stared at each other for a brief second.

“I’m so sorry,” Grantaire said automatically. Enjolras seemed to pull into his own thoughts for a moment, though his eyes stayed locked on Grantaire’s. They stood, motionless, in the middle of the sidewalk.

“I don’t usually sleep with people on the first date.” Enjolras paused. “In fact, I never do. But I need a release, and you are just so...”

“I get it,” Grantaire assured him in a low voice. He closed his eyes briefly. “I’m going to hate myself for this, but I’m not just going to be your one-night stand.”

“I don’t do one-night stands either, and I don’t plan on starting tonight.” Enjolras ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I’ll make you a deal.”

“Romantic,” Grantaire laughed. Enjolras raised an eyebrow; Grantaire motioned for him to continue.

“You will not tell anyone who also knows me that we’re going to do this, because I would never hear the end of it,” Enjolras explained. Grantaire shrugged and nodded. “And I will meet you again for coffee tomorrow, because you are surprisingly intelligent and you can help me strengthen my arguments.” Enjolras met Grantaire’s eyes carefully. “I’d love to continue seeing you.”

“‘Surprisingly intelligent’, eh?” Grantaire ran his fingers up Enjolras’ arm. “That’s probably the nicest thing anybody’s ever said about me.”

Enjolras fought down the desire to ask about that, instead pushing forward and pinning Grantaire against the brick wall behind them. He kissed the artist breathless for a moment before he pulled away and let their foreheads fall together.

“If we’re going to do this, we can’t do it at my place,” Grantaire whispered into the small space between them. Enjolras nodded and grabbed Grantaire’s hand.

“My apartment is a couple of blocks past the station,” Enjolras informed him. Grantaire nodded and let Enjolras drag him down the winding sidewalks until they arrived at one of the nicer apartment buildings in their area. Enjolras let himself into the building, finally releasing Grantaire’s hand and trusting him to follow. Grantaire wanted to laugh; there was no way he would turn away from this now. Enjolras looked at the elevator briefly before he took off at a run up the stairs. Grantaire kept up the whole way; though he had smoker’s lungs, spending all his days on his feet working did wonders for his general physique. Enjolras turned back to look at Grantaire now and then before he unlocked his apartment door and dragged Grantaire through it. Enjolras slammed the door shut before shoving Grantaire up against it.

“Do you have roommates?” Grantaire breathed. Enjolras shook his head before sealing their mouths together. Grantaire sighed into Enjolras’ mouth and fought back, grabbing the hair at the back of Enjolras’ head. He tried to turn Enjolras around and switch their positions, but Enjolras was having none of it; he just pressed Grantaire harder into the door and started biting down his neck.

“What do you want?” Enjolras mumbled into Grantaire’s skin. Grantaire grabbed Enjolras’ waist with both hands and pulled them apart.

“You said you want a release?” Grantaire asked. Enjolras nodded. “Then you get one. Where’s your bedroom?”

Enjolras pulled Grantaire in front of him and pushed him down the hallway until they reached one door, which Enjolras kicked open. Grantaire let Enjolras shove him down on the bed.

“Do whatever you want,” Grantaire murmured. Enjolras climbed over him, his shins coming down on either side of Grantaire’s thighs as he knelt over him. Grantaire hesitated for a moment before he reached up and started unbuttoning Enjolras’ shirt furiously. Enjolras just yanked it off, too impatient to wait for all the buttons to come apart, and Grantaire let out a low noise deep in his throat. Enjolras tore Grantaire’s shirt off before he slid off the bed to pull his pants off. Grantaire hurried, yanking his own pants and boxers off. He toed his shoes off and had just thrown his socks to the floor when Enjolras returned to him, lining up their bodies and kissing him deeply. Grantaire groaned openly, and Enjolras responded in kind, dragging his mouth down to kiss the inside of Grantaire’s thigh. Grantaire’s hips made an aborted jerk upwards, and Enjolras took that as a sign to move in.

* * *

Grantaire woke up to find Enjolras pacing back and forth along the wall farthest from the bed. He was talking into his phone in a low, fast voice, seemingly trying not to be so loud as to wake Grantaire up. He looked over and sighed as he noticed Grantaire sitting up in the bed.

“Jehan, I’ll talk to you later.” Enjolras paused. “Yes, thank you.” Enjolras hung up his phone and left it on the dresser before coming to sit on the edge of the bed. “Jehan called, told me he found someone to cover my patrol tonight.”

“You asked for someone to cover for you?” Grantaire asked, just on the edge of smiling. Enjolras shook his head, which made the smile fall off his face.

“When nobody got in contact with me, they presumed I wouldn’t be coming back for my patrol,” Enjolras explained. He ran a hand through his messy hair, which he usually kept neat when it was short and tied up when it was long. Grantaire reached forward and let his fingers trickle through it, half-enjoying the feel of it and half-revelling in the simple fact that he could. Enjolras leaned his head into Grantaire’s hand absently. “So, I guess I’m free now. Oh, and Jehan told me Musichetta said you’re off tonight. She got Bahorel to fill in for you, she said.”

“She must’ve blackmailed him,” Grantaire laughed, falling back into the bed and stretching out like a long, languid cat. “Only way to get Bahorel to do anything.”

Enjolras reached out and trailed his hand down Grantaire’s chest. Grantaire caught his hand before it reached his dick.

“Nice try.” Grantaire used Enjolras’ hand to pull himself up, lean forward, and kiss Enjolras’ softly before he fell back down.

“What am I doing?” Enjolras was speaking mostly to himself, but Grantaire lifted his head anyways.

“You’re sitting on your bed instead of lying down with me.” Grantaire held his hand out. “Come lay down.”

Enjolras shook his head and stood up instead. Grantaire sat up, a worried expression etching itself onto his face.

“I mean, what the _hell_ am I doing here?” Enjolras asked, rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyes before taking a deep breath. “I don’t _do_ this. This isn’t _me_.”

Grantaire stared up at him for a moment before his eyes narrowed slightly. “We made a deal.”

Enjolras looked at him sharply. “What?”

“We made a deal,” Grantaire repeatedly, slowly this time. “I keep this a secret, and you keep seeing me.”

“‘Seeing you’. What does that even mean?” Enjolras demanded. Grantaire stood up, and Enjolras was suddenly painfully aware of the fact that they were both still naked.

“It means that you see me. I assumed it meant you’d continue seeing me as your boyfriend or other such teen-novel shit, but I clearly made a mistake in that.” Grantaire moved away, gathering up his clothes and tugging them on haphazardly. “I’m glad you got your release, Officer.”

“Grantaire-”

“Say no more,” Grantaire interrupted, holding up one hand while the other tugged his jeans up. “I get it. You just said it so you could... I don’t know, use me for sex.” Grantaire paused for a moment, letting that sink in before he laughed humorlessly. “That’s just fucking great.”

“I still want to see you,” Enjolras exclaimed as Grantaire located his shoes. Grantaire rolled his eyes.

“Then see me walk out of here,” Grantaire said through clenched teeth. He abandoned the search for his shoes and stormed up to Enjolras. “I know I’m not some upper-class - or, hell, even middle-class -, law-abiding, beautiful-and-perfect guy, but I think even I deserve better than that.”

“You do,” Enjolras insisted. He reached out, but Grantaire smacked his hand away.

“Don’t,” Grantaire warned. He turned to move away, but Enjolras grabbed his wrist. Grantaire tried to tug his arm away, but Enjolras just tightened his grip. He glared at Enjolras, his eyes hard and cold as ice, and nearly as grey in his anger. “Let me go.”

“No,” Enjolras shot back firmly. Grantaire tugged at his arm again before his other hand came up to pull at Enjolras’ forearm. Enjolras snagged his other wrist and tugged him close so they were flush against each other. Grantaire moved to shove him away, but Enjolras dropped his head down to kiss the brunette. Grantaire struggled for a moment before he gave in. His movements slowed and smoothed out, becoming less jerky and sharp, and he relaxed slightly. Enjolras let one hand move from Grantaire’s wrist to the small of his back. “Stay. Let me talk.”

“Letting you talk hasn’t led me to anything good,” Grantaire grumbled, but he sat down heavily on the edge of the bed while Enjolras grabbed a pair of pajama pants and pulled them on. He perched on the bed, his knees nearly touching Grantaire’s.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Enjolras explained quietly. Grantaire just stared at him, his eyes a little warmer, but his expression still set hard. Enjolras plowed on anyways. “Jehan always says I need someone to... mellow me out. I need someone to be my natural equalizer. Based on what I’ve seen so far, you’d be great for that. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“What, you want me on a trial run?” Grantaire asked. Enjolras shook his head.

“I want to see where this can go,” Enjolras tried. Grantaire ran a hand through his hair and scratched at the back of his head.

“That’s called dating,” Grantaire explained slowly, dramatically, as though he were talking to a child. Enjolras closed his eyes for a second before he looked down at his hands in lap.

“I don’t know,” Enjolras answered. His tone was plainly hesitant. Grantaire shrugged and stood up.

“When you know, call me. You have my number.” Grantaire finally located his shoes and tugged them both on. Enjolras’ head snapped up suddenly.

“When’s your next Arts Night at the Musain?” Enjolras asked. Grantaire looked confused as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and scrolled to his calendar.

“Uhm, shit. Tomorrow night.” Grantaire scowled at a message on his phone before flipping it shut and shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans. “Why?”

“I’ll see you there,” Enjolras informed him. Grantaire nodded hesitantly. “Do you want to go home?”

“No, I... I can stay here until morning,” Grantaire replied, playing with the hem on the edge of his sleeve. Enjolras helpfully divested him of the shirt.

* * *

Grantaire came home that morning to a full house. Bahorel was lounging on their ratty sofa, Eponine was showering, and Montparnasse was talking agitatedly into his phone. When Grantaire shut the front door, Montparnasse stepped back and threw his phone against the wall, and it broke apart an inch from Grantaire’s head. The artist raised an eyebrow.

“You wanna watch where you throw your shit, ‘Parnasse?” Grantaire kicked his shoes off by the door and went to sort through his clothes for something to wear for Arts Night. Bahorel grabbed his wrist and yanked him backwards, however, despite Grantaire’s dirty look. “What the fuck do you want? I’ve got to change.”

“And why is that?” Bahorel asked cheekily. “Where were you all night?”

“I was with Enjolras, not that it’s any of your business,” Grantaire answered, pulling his wrist free. Bahorel raised his hands peaceably.

“You’re crabby. Get some new clothes on, you’ve got work soon,” Bahorel informed him, kicking his feet up onto the sofa. Montparnasse was there in a flash, shoving Grantaire and Bahorel towards the door.

“Claquesous, Gueuelemer, and Babet got in some deep shit and they’re coming here,” Montparnasse explained quickly. “We need to get them and whoever the fuck they’re fighting with out of here.”

Grantaire frowned at him as Bahorel cracked his knuckles. Montparnasse turned around and stuck his head in the bathroom.

“Eponine, you stay in here!” Montparnasse shouted into the bathroom. Eponine said something back, and Montparnasse pulled a face. “What the fuck did I say? ‘Ponine, you’re going to stay in here! You’re not coming outside no matter what you hear, got it?”

Grantaire moved around Montparnasse, stepping into the bathroom. “Eponine, just listen to him today, please. It’s going to be okay.”

Eponine, still in the shower, was quiet for a moment. The only sound was the stream of hot water. Finally, she just said, “Fine. But if any of you three morons gets in trouble, I’m not going to fuck around.”

“Understood,” Grantaire replied before shutting the door. Montparnasse clapped a hand on Grantaire’s shoulder before he disappeared into the bedroom he and Eponine shared to grab his gun. Bahorel was already outside on the front step, looking down the street and waiting. Grantaire sighed and tied his hair back. “What did they even do?”

“Beyond me,” Montparnasse called back from the bedroom. “They just called to say they were headed this way and they needed help. For all I know, they tried to break into the petting zoo or something equally as fucking stupid.”

“If you stopped hanging around with those morons, I’d feel much better about putting up with you,” Grantaire grumbled as Montparnasse reappeared. Montparnasse shoved his gun in the back of his pants and ushered Grantaire out the door. Grantaire followed Bahorel down the steps and watched as Bahorel and Montparnasse paced back and forth across the lawn. He sat down on the sidewalk and peered down the street.

“Anything yet?” Bahorel asked Grantaire as he pulled his switchblade out of his back pocket. Grantaire looked down the street and wished, in the back of his mind, that he had thought to call Enjolras. Montparnasse never took well to the police, but it was better than whatever they were currently facing. He stood up when he spotted three familiar shapes sprinting down the street.

“I see them,” Grantaire called back to the other two. Claquesous was the first one to reach them, breathless and red-faced though he was. He grabbed Grantaire’s sleeve to keep himself upright.

“We got in a fight,” Claquesous panted. Grantaire shook his hand off and cracked his neck as Babet and Gueuelemer reached the rest of them. When Grantaire looked around them, he could see at least seven figures coming towards them. He sighed and rolled his shoulders.

Grantaire had been in fights like this before. The kind of people Montparnasse ran around with - or, rather, pretended to work _with_ when he actually just made them work _for_ him - were foolish and simple, and they made mistakes often. They always came running back to Montparnasse, which meant they always ran to where Grantaire and Bahorel lived, and where they made Eponine hide when they thought it would be bad enough. Montparnasse usually let Eponine help, so when Grantaire heard Montparnasse telling Eponine to stay inside, he knew it would be bad. That, coupled with the fact that Montparnasse already had his gun ready, and the fact that he had thrown his phone, just spelled disaster.

Grantaire braced himself when the other group came in. He was able to flip one guy over his back right off the bat; he was thin compared to Bahorel, and unprepared compared to Montparnasse, but he was strong and scrappy and he knew how to fight. He heard the first shots fired beside him - must have been Montparnasse, then - and he punched one of the other guys in the face. He heard the next shots from the other direction, and he felt more than heard the next shots after that. Bahorel was shouting right in his ear, and Grantaire looked down at his chest. There was a red stain blooming on his shirt, high on the right half of his chest, and he fell to his knees. He raised his eyes to Bahorel.

“What do I do?” Grantaire asked softly. The other group of men had scattered at the sight of Grantaire, and that just left the six of them, plus Eponine when she ran outside. She pulled Grantaire’s head into her lap.

“Where’s your phone?” Eponine demanded. Grantaire blinked; the water in her hair was dripping onto his face.

“I don’t...” Grantaire turned his head to the side. “My pocket, I think.”

Montparnasse reached over and searched Grantaire’s pocket until he pulled out his phone. “Who am I calling, ‘Ponine?”

“The police, ‘Parnasse, Jesus,” Eponine spat at him. Montparnasse ignored her edginess and started dialing. Grantaire kept staring up at the underside of Eponine’s jaw, until she looked back down at him.

“What do I do?” Grantaire repeated. He twitched his head down to look at his chest, but Bahorel crouched over him and yanked his head back up.

“Freaking yourself out won’t do any good,” Bahorel explained firmly. Grantaire blinked slowly and let one hand reach up to grab at his chest.

“I don’t feel anything,” Grantaire informed them, his voice remarkably calm and even. Montparnasse swore and kicked the telephone pole at the end of their lawn. Eponine pushed Grantaire’s hair away from his face, and Babet suddenly appeared.

“I’m sorry about this, R,” Babet apologized, seemingly earnest. Grantaire nodded as best as he could and let his eyes unfocus.

* * *

“Where’s Grantaire?” Musichetta demanded as Bossuet set up the last wall of their friend’s artwork. Bossuet just shrugged and straightened one of the portraits.

“Beats me. Enjolras and some of your crew have been here for half an hour,” Bossuet informed her, motioning towards the two tables full of cops. Enjolras was tapping a spoon against the edge of his mug impatiently and looking towards the door every thirty seconds.

Marius reached out and grabbed Enjolras’ spoon. “I’m sorry, mate, but this is driving me nuts.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Enjolras sighed, scrubbing at his face with his hands. He looked down at his phone again. Combeferre snapped fingers in front of his face.

“My friend, you are more distracted than normal.” Combeferre took a sip from his own drink. “This wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with Grantaire, would it?”

“He said he was going to meet up with me here,” Enjolras explained. “He was upset for a while. I’m a little concerned about him.”

“This is really sweet.” Marius grinned dreamily, letting his chin fall into his palm. “You’re so cute.”

Enjolras glared at him. “Don’t call me cute, Pontmercy, unless you want it to be the last thing you ever do.”

Marius’ eyes widened slightly, but he stopped calling Enjolras “cute”, so it was counted as a win. Combeferre took another sip from his mug.

“What did you say to upset him?” Combeferre asked evenly. Enjolras met his friend’s eyes before he looked down into his own coffee.

“I said I didn’t know what I was going with him and that this wasn’t me,” Enjolras explained. Combeferre nodded knowingly.

“Stop pushing people away, Enjolras, and they’ll stop pushing back,” Combeferre advised sagely. Enjolras rolled his eyes, but filed the information away nonetheless. He jumped when his phone vibrated, but frowned when the caller was identified as Jehan. He picked it up anyways.

“Hello, Jehan,” Enjolras greeted. He listened for a moment, his brow furrowing, before he pushed his chair back with a sharp screech and stood. “What’s the address?” Enjolras listened for a moment. “Yes, I’ll go out there. Meet us there.” Enjolras hung up and motioned to Combeferre. “There were shots fired on the other side of town.”

“Where?” Musichetta asked, approaching the men cautiously. She already knew the answer, though, so nobody replied to her. Marius kissed her forehead and assured her that he would call her when they found out what was going on.

* * *

“Enjolras, just stay in the cruiser,” Jehan demanded the moment Combeferre pulled up at the scene. Marius climbed out of the back seat and brushed past Jehan to the group of people who had already arrived and who had already been present. Enjolras climbed out of the cruiser anyways, recognizing a few familiar faces; he knew Montparnasse and Claquesous, but the other two standing with them were unfamiliar to him. Bahorel was pacing back and forth, and Eponine was kneeling in the road while Courfeyrac talked to her. She had blood all over her skirt. Enjolras’ head snapped to the side when he heard a noise. He spotted Grantaire, moved off to the side of the road, Joly at his side. Enjolras moved around the coroner and knelt beside Grantaire’s head.

“What happened?” Enjolras demanded. One of the unfamiliar men took it upon himself to answer.

“We got in a... a bit of a... scuffle, and Grantaire tried to help, and it just didn’t go well,” the man explained. Enjolras stood up and stared the stranger down.

“This is because of you?” Enjolras moved forward, but Jehan was suddenly there, laying a firm hand against Enjolras’ chest.

“We’ve already read them their rights, and we’re going to take them in. Javert is on his way in the extra cruiser. They just asked to stay around and make sure Grantaire’s okay.” Jehan met Enjolras’ eyes. “He’s going to be fine. Joly went to medical school, he knows what he’s doing until the paramedics get here.”

Enjolras allowed Jehan to keep eye contact for a moment before he returned his attention to Grantaire, who had opened his eyes and was staring blearily at the sky. Enjolras was reminded of that morning, when Grantaire had woken up the second time with a hazy look in his eyes. Enjolras knelt down beside him, and Grantaire’s eyes focused on his face.

“Do you know what you want now?” Grantaire asked Enjolras, grinning up at him. Enjolras kept his hands to himself.

“It’s going to be okay,” Enjolras promised vaguely. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“Answer my question,” Grantaire demanded. He raised his hand to wrap around Enjolras’ wrist. Enjolras let his head bow over Grantaire’s.

“I don’t, not for sure,” Enjolras replied honestly. Grantaire shifted his head slightly, and Enjolras frowned. “I mean, I don’t know what I want from us. But I know... I’d like there to _be_ an _us_ , so, if you’d be so kind as to stick around long enough to give _us_ a chance, that’d be lovely.”

“Roger dodger, Officer,” Grantaire joked weakly. He laughed and his grip on Enjolras’ wrist slackened. Enjolras just nodded and looked up at Joly.

“It’s going to be okay,” Enjolras repeated, though his eyes were locked on Joly, whose eyes were down as his hands flew. “It’s going to be okay, I’ll make sure of it.”

**Author's Note:**

> It's probably obvious, if you know me, that I fuck up all my 'verses. I was so pissed at myself for writing this, even as I wrote it. I hate me. I promise, it'll get better. I just had this idea, and I wanted to get this part of it out of the way before they got too involved. The other part I'll save, but the point remains. 
> 
> Also, I tried so hard to write smut. You have no idea how hard. But I still can't do it, because of personal reasons. I'm so sorry, guys. Imagine whatever you want there instead.
> 
> Overall, I'm kind of unhappy with this part (the plot and the turnout and the lack of smut and the characters that slip through my fingers like water), but really unhappy with myself. I'm just going to sleep for a year and pretend I'm good.
> 
> You can follow me on Twitter at [@nicoIodeon](https://twitter.com/nicoIodeon) or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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